Under the Cradling Moon
by The Tilde
Summary: This series was inspired by a picture I had seen from Project Earthshine at NASA's Website. I wove the story around this beautiful astronomical phenomenon that we often take for granted.
1. Under the Cradling Moon 1

Under the Cradling Moon (1/4) by thetilde ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Category: J/7 shipper melancholy and WAFF (Warm and Fuzzy Feeling). Involves a kiss between two women. If you take offense at such things, stop reading. Spoilers: Minor spoilers regarding the outcome of "Equinox I and II". Disclaimers: The characters and situations of the television program "Star Trek Voyager" are the creations and property of Paramount Pictures, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I retain the rights to the plot. You may download and distribute this story as long as my name stays on the by-line. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Contact me at omegapoint79@yahoo.com. Rating: PG-13 due to the first kiss. Summary: Post-Equinox. Seven of Nine accompanies the Captain on an evening sail and helps her deal with her guilt.  
  
Acknowledgments: features an excerpt of the lyrics from "I have dreamed" (The King and I). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
It was almost as if I woke up and my life had lost its depth. It was sudden, but not in the way that an ion storm or a phaser blast is. It happened subtly, like the sibilant shift in a conversation in a restaurant when you realize that a friend has betrayed you amidst the clink of butter knives and salt shakers. That what you treasured was a delusion, a weakness you foolishly indulged in and now as being taken advantage of.  
  
Only this time, I was the traitor. I had betrayed the trust that the crew had in me.  
  
I would have killed him. If Chakotay hadn't been there I know that I would have let those life forms desiccate that young man. In my rage, I would have stood outside Cargo Bay 2 and listened to his screams.  
  
Ransom and I had more in common than I would like to admit. We've both been away from other Starfleet influences so long that we'd gotten used to having our own way. How could I blame him for his atrocities knowing that I was just as capable, if not more so, of the same crimes? At least, Ransom had been preying on another species. I had almost tortured and killed a young Starfleet officer. A human being who I could communicate with, whose feelings I could easily identify with. if I hadn't already lost control.  
  
Chakotay and Tuvok could have easily conferred with the Doctor; they could have relieved me of my command. But, Chakotay, bless his heart, had always had and probably always would have faith in me; a faith that I'm not so sure I still have in myself.  
  
I remembered how Chakotay walked into the short corridor leading to the briefing room to place Voyager's plaque in its rightful place without so much as a backward look. I felt emptiness so heavy that I thought I couldn't bear it. I realized how fragile the world I built for myself was, how ephemeral my happiness had been.  
  
All these years gone by, and I wasn't much different from the volatile cadet I had been when I entered Starfleet. I thought that my experiences and my tightly-held control had reined in or mellowed all my dangerous impulses. I was wrong. I'm still a loose cannon. Now everyone on Voyager knows it.  
  
I feel so tired, as if all this time I had been trying to outrun what was actually coiled around me. I guess it shows, since nearly all the members of the senior staff have made some effort to comfort me. I know they're disappointed in me. I know they're conflicted; torn between loyalty to their commanding officer and what they believe to be right.  
  
Another thing I have in common with Ransom.  
  
The entry chime to my ready room chattered shrilly in my ears, and I sighed. Batten down the hatches, Captain. It's another Florence Nightingale.  
  
I greeted my visitor with a nod. I suppose this is one of the few times he's here willingly, and not because I'm disciplining him for one of his energetic misadventures. He seems so resolute. just like his father.  
  
"Captain," he began without preamble, "you brought me on board in the face of a lot of opposition. You told them that everybody deserved a second chance, that everyone made mistakes. Doesn't that apply to you too? We all make a bad decision sometimes, that's all it was."  
  
No, it was a weakness of character. "Thank you, Tom. I appreciate your understanding and your vote of confidence."  
  
"Captain," he said, "I know what it is to be counted as a failure."  
  
"So noted, Ensign Paris. You're dismissed."  
  
I looked at this young man as he retreated. He's not usually so clumsy, his words are usually so apt, glib and even flippant at the oddest moments. He must really be worried. I wish I could take comfort in that.  
  
Another chime at the door. Shaking my head, I got up to replicate an espresso shot before allowing the next well-meaning soul to enter.  
  
"I see you're still trying to reduce yourself to a twitching mass of flesh." The Doctor quipped nodding his head at my drink.  
  
I faked a smile. "You die your way, I'll die mine."  
  
I expected him to smile back. I suppose I expected too much.  
  
"I heard the Vashrim have agreed to our request for full maintenance and shore leave for the crew." He said, ignoring my comment.  
  
"Yes, that's right. Would you like to put in for some shore leave?"  
  
"Only if it's for you, Captain." He raised a hand to forestall my argument. "You've been prowling around your ready room since. since the potluck. It's not healthy. You haven't been on shore leave in the past two months. Please, don't force me into making this an order."  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Our hosts greeted me warmly and their Legate cheerily presented me with a lovely ten and a half meter blue sloop to navigate their waters with while I was on shore leave. I thanked them, putting on my best diplomatic face and my semi-automatic smile. I felt so out of place among the Vashrim, whose soft burnished skin and sun-kissed hair spoke eloquently of the calm waters, shimmering coves and the rocky tree-fringed coasts of their homeworld. A planet so beautiful I felt rebuked.  
  
I spent the afternoon getting to know the small traditional sail boat, glad that my mind was occupied with the intricacies of the Vashrim sloop. It wasn't that different from the ship my family and I used to sail on, when we'd take our yearly holiday in Maine to visit my mother's relatives.  
  
By 1600H , I had become confident enough to sail up and down the bay where the sloop had been moored. I declined my host's offer of a cottage, deciding to spend the night on the small boat. I replicated a chicken for dinner and a bottle of vodka for later.  
  
Warm currents of wind spiraled upwards and tumbled through the air. I leaned into it, enjoying the feel of the wind on my face. I was thankful that the sloop had afforded me the privacy I needed, and spared me the tiresome ministrations of my staff. As I was sailing around the bay, still close to the shore, I'd seen Harry, B'Ellana, and Tom walking around the marina in loud Hawaiian shirts. I'd also seen Voyager's youngest crew member dragging Neelix toward a store that sold Vashrim kites. It was good to see the crew enjoying their shore leave without having to be approached by them.  
  
I wondered if things would ever go back to normal. Could I ever regain what I had thrown away at that moment of cruelty and obsession? Sighing, I loaded my dinner into the small heating compartment on the sloop. I wished that I could stop thinking, to still my mind with Vulcan meditations, a Talaxian riddle, or one of Tom's puzzles. I walked up the short flight of steps to the main deck, and there she was. eyes of sea and sunshine, sparkling hello without a word, without a touch. She wore the simple white dress I had seen on so many of the Vashrim women as they walked along the shore. Her hair was down, falling gracefully to her shoulders and caressed by the wind. The star-shaped implant on her right arm peeked out of the sleeve of her dress as she came to a stop before me and placed her bag on the deck.  
  
"Seven, what are you doing here?"  
  
"I am joining you." She replied, as if she was stating the obvious.  
  
"Not this time, Seven."  
  
The Borg didn't move an inch and didn't seem offended or put off in the least.  
  
"It would be impractical for you to sail this untried vessel on the ocean of an alien planet in your state of mind." She explained. "I will assist you."  
  
"Seven--" I began, bristling at her presumption. My state of mind was none of her business.  
  
"Then I will accompany you." She said, changing tactics. "I do not engage in irrelevant conversation out of habit, unlike Ensigns Paris and Kim."  
  
I shook my head, trying to decide whether I really wanted her to leave or not.  
  
"And I have brought you coffee." She added holding up a thermos.  
  
I put what I hope was a condescending smirk on my face. "You've obviously never been sailing before."  
  
Seven only raised her optical implant in reply, refusing to take the bait.  
  
"No one in their right mind would go sailing in that outfit." I continued.  
  
"My dermoplastic suit cannot be submerged in water for long periods of time." "You think I'm going to drown you?"  
  
"I trust you implicitly, as I always have." she said softly. "However, I do not know if I will acquire my 'sea legs'. I would have chosen something more functional, but the doctor assured me that I would 'blend-in' with the Vashrim if I wore this. "  
  
The notion of Seven of Nine blending in anywhere brought a smile to my lips. Her radiant beauty combined with her endless quest for perfection would always make her stand-out. The fact that Seven found simple courtesies inefficient didn't help matters either, but she'd recently made great strides in that area.  
  
"I could change my attire if this is inappropriate." Seven said, proving my point.  
  
"No, it's fine, Seven. I wanted to do most of the sailing by myself anyway." I replied, offering her a hand as she stepped lightly on the deck. I tried to ignore the way my palms tingled at the light touch.  
  
"As I said, Captain," Seven stated, "I will not disturb your activities."  
  
"Fair enough." I replied. "But what are you going to have for dinner?"  
  
"I do not estimate that I will require nutritional supplements this evening, however, I have brought ingredients for a salad."  
  
I nodded, untying the lines that held the sloop in the marina's embrace. "Make yourself comfortable, then."  
  
"Thank you, Captain."  
  
We set out of the harbor at a fast clip, the sails filling with the lusty wind that would have sent the Vashrim sloop rushing into the sea if I let it. There were so many trees along the shore, their long arms hanging forlornly over the water. They had great shaggy branches and a litter of twigs fell from them in an almost constant rain. The color of the leaves was not lush. It was more a resigned, mellowing green. Here and there in the dapple of the trees against the hard blue sky, you could see a leaf gone yellow, quietly treacherous to summer. Typical of the way such things shift, subtly, leaf by leaf, their beginnings small and hardly to be seen, but seeming so great when you suddenly look up and notice.  
  
I sat on the lee side of the windward deck, holding the tiller lightly between my thumb and forefinger, just the way my mother used to. as if she were a musician playing an instrument that had been finely tuned. I let the boat climb the wind until the jib luffed ever so gently near the peak, then eased off a hair until the flutter went away.  
  
Seven was at the foredeck. She stood against the horizon, a patch of brilliance, awesome in her vitality. The wind threw her hair back, her features achingly beautiful, her smile provocative beyond belief.  
  
In my distraction, the sloop heeled leeward - the sail nearly touched the water and the tiller slipped out of my hand. I had come close to throwing Seven in the ocean.  
  
"Is this your way of telling me to be seated, Captain?"  
  
Grumbling, I held the tiller again, resolving to concentrate on the capricious wind. I had forgotten that the wind deceived sailors constantly about its direction and velocity, and that if I wanted to sail, and sail well, I had to abide by subtleties my senses could barely detect. I had to stop steering with a vengeance and pay attention to what the ship wanted to do, to let the elation of the surging sloop fill my soul. I felt guilty for this unearned pleasure, this perfect little sloop and this beautiful woman with the deep blue eyes. But I also felt weary, wanting and needing this respite. even if I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve to stop thinking, to stop feeling. I should stay focused on repairing the rift between me and the crew. I had lost control. I still hadn't regained it. And that was why Seven was here.  
  
I sat up straighter, moving forward to see what she was doing; I was surprised to find that she'd brought out some charcoal pencils and a sketch pad.  
  
"You encouraged me to explore methods of artistic expression," she said by way of explanation.  
  
I nodded dumbly and tried to enjoy the soothing motion of the tide. Soft memories of the Indian summers spent sailing on a sloop similar to this one came unbidden. She was called the Consolation. My mother christened her with a bottle of champagne across her bow as my father laughed and took a holovid. I remember my mother's hands firmly on the rudder, the early December chill rolling off the ocean. Altocumulus clouds sailing high above us, accompanying us on our journey, whitecaps dotting the water, and Consolation, her mainsail double reefed, screaming like a banshee into the bay, beating into exhilarating thirty-five knot winds.  
  
I remember how my mother used to say that sailing was like marriage. It wasn't to be entered into lightly, but advisedly. and soberly.  
  
"An interesting metaphor," Seven commented, making me aware that I had been rambling out loud.  
  
"My mother is full of interesting metaphors." I replied, another smile seeping into my features. "I hope you get to meet her someday."  
  
"As do I." Seven said easily. "Your family enjoyed this activity?"  
  
"It was the best thing about being traditionalist, and one of the few interests that my sister and I shared with equal passion." I explained. "There's nothing like that feeling as you pick up speed, actually feel the ship accelerate, and you realize that the wind you feel isn't just the wind, it's the ship cutting through the still air like a photon torpedo."  
  
"You pursued this recreational activity regularly, then?" Seven asked.  
  
"We used to do it every year." I said quietly, remembering how Consolation was sold to our neighbors when Daddy died. "My parents were happiest when they were sailing. We used to sail all the way from Portland down to my maternal grandmother's house in Eastport, near Passamaquoddy Bay. And when we arrived, a feast was always waiting for us. The lobsters she cooked were pure bliss; they would just melt in your mouth. You would love them."  
  
"I think not."  
  
With guilt I recalled Seven's unsuccessful first date with Lt. Chapman. The Doctor and Tom had behaved atrociously, placing bets on Seven's social development without any regard for her feelings. I wish I'd been there to give her some advice.  
  
"Well, then you'd love the taste of the Atlantic salmon." I said, trying to take her mind from the embarrassing memory. "No exoskeletons to deal with, and absolutely scrumptious, especially during that summer when we caught the neap tide."  
  
"Neap tide?"  
  
"An old term taken from the Norwegian naepen or 'scarcely touching'. it's when the difference between tides is least." I explained.  
  
Seven quirked her lips upward briefly in what I had learned to identify as a smile. We settled into a companionable silence. A low gossamer fog licked out from the land, as I turned back to look at the marina. A halo of light hung over the port and reflected in the sea. The clear air was gradually filling with indigo. The indigo air drifted up, so that you almost felt that you were seeing the air itself. The sky gleamed ever so faintly with the last traces of daylight, and everything was blurred, difficult to distinguish. Everything was beautiful.  
  
True to her word, Seven left me to my own thoughts as I discovered the many winds on this sea, and their distinctive character. A gusty northwesterly, blew mightily one minute and disappeared the next, only to burst forth again more furiously than before. There was also a trace of the gentle easterly, which brought the fog. And in between these siblings, the peace- making southeasterly wind merrily whipped whitecaps into the water.  
  
Looking toward my passenger, I gasped at the sight of Seven's silken hair in the wind, her eyes closed and her hands still on her open sketchpad. Her mouth was moving but I couldn't hear what she was saying. The northwesterly wind dropped its assault suddenly, and her hair fell gently across her nape. Snatches of a familiar melody came across the sloop. She sang softly, with more passion than I had ever heard in her voice before. I suddenly felt like lashing myself to the mast. There was something else, not so much in her voice, but in her being that called to mind a Siren. There was something in the melody, in the words of her song that seemed to be tailored to her voice.  
  
I have dreamed that your arms are lovely,  
  
I have dreamed what a joy you'll be.  
  
I have dreamed every word you whisper.  
  
When you're close,  
  
Close to me.  
  
How you look in the glow of evening  
  
I have dreamed and enjoyed the view.  
  
In these dreams I've loved you so  
  
That by now I think I know.  
  
What it's like to be loved by you.  
  
I will love being loved by you.  
  
Her voice wandered sweetly, softly, working like a massage on the area of my heart that was the most tightly clenched, helping those knots to loosen. It was like the rush of waves, and like the laughter of people I'd met in all kinds of places, people I'd become friendly with and then separated from, and like the kind words all those people had said to me, and like the mixture of noises that rang in the background in a place that was dear to me, a place far away, a place that no longer existed. her voice was like a combination of all this.  
  
I was loathe to break the moment, wanting to live in it for the rest of my days. And yet I also felt a niggling jealousy, knowing that the Doctor had probably given her lessons in music appreciation, and had most likely been the one she chose to sing to. Perhaps even sing with.  
  
Between my irrational jealousy and being mesmerized by Seven's voice, I nearly had the sloop in irons, throwing its head too much into the wind that it staggered. I waited for a comment from Seven, but there was none. I sighed and turned my attention once more to the sloop's journey. I tacked with great care, letting the bow cross the wind and calmly holding fast through the momentary dead spot that always comes, confident that the momentum we needed to keep the hull moving would come even though the sails were flat. I kept my senses open to the wind and the pressure of the tiller. I was careful not to lose sight of the coast. Before I knew it, night was upon us, vast and supernal. The skeins of high flung stars were coldly beautiful.  
  
"N'vhateru's dream." Seven declared.  
  
"Hmm?" I asked, distractedly. Her singing voice was so pure, so ethereal, and yet so mature. Without a song to sing, she was so fresh, so awkward. It was a captivating contrast.  
  
"N'vhateru's dream." Seven repeated. "The myth the Vashrim use to explain their planet's unique shine due to the large number of clouds in their atmosphere. It causes this."  
  
Seven pointed above us to starboard. The moon's ashen glow shone brightly, blessing us with its silver light.  
  
"At the reception, the Doctor mentioned to the Legate that I was interested in Astronomy." She elaborated. "The Legate suggested I view this phenomenon. I was. polite enough not to point out that this phenomenon has been documented in over 30,000 planets and 4,000 species assimilated by the Borg."  
  
"Maestro Da Vinci was the first one to explain the phenomenon on earth." I contributed. "Astronomers have called it Earthshine ever since. But my mother used to call it 'the old Moon in the New Moon's arms'. My father would tease her that she was the old moon, and they would laugh and banter through the night."  
  
"Your mother's metaphor bears certain similarities to the Vashrim myth." Seven observed.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"It is a love story between the two main female deities, the moon and their planet, Vashri." Seven explained. "N'vhateru is the moon, whose great love for Vashri can never be requited. N'vhateru orbits Vashri, content to be near her, continually dying and being reborn in her presence. But when Vashri shrouds herself in clouds in order to turn away from her suitor, N'vhateru dreams of holding her in her arms."  
  
"So this is N'vhateru's dream." I said softly.  
  
"Yes."  
  
I took a deep breath. "You know, the view from the moon itself is stunning."  
  
"Captain?"  
  
"I meant Earth's moon. I had a friend whose father worked for the Lunar Laboratories. When I visited her, it was my first time on the moon. I was around ten years old. The moon was new, or nearly so, and the earth was a dazzling, fully-lit orb in lunar skies. Blue and green and swirling white, it appeared four times wider than the Sun and fifty times brighter than a full Moon would on earth. When I first saw it I felt insignificant, only a small permutation in the Universe's variety."  
  
"This phenomenon is most intense during your birthday, is it not?" Seven asked.  
  
"Yes." I said wistfully. "Imagine a smooth sky dyed purple, just like this one, spreading out above endless fields of corn... it's very beautiful, but it's even better when you see it from the grounds of the Presidio at dawn. Or at the back of the Empyrean House in Paris, framing the offices of the Federation President and the Eiffel Tower.  
  
"Seven, isn't there anything you want to see on Earth?" I asked. "Anything that piques your curiosity?"  
  
"The Little Mermaid." She said so quietly it might have been a thought I overheard.  
  
"What?"  
  
"In the harbor of Copenhagen, the statue based on the Earth myth told to children?"  
  
"Yes, I know what it is." I clarified. "I was just wondering why you wanted to see it. I can program it for you on the holodeck, you know."  
  
"I am aware of that, Captain. I." Seven paused. She looked so shy and confused, sitting so far away from me, on the opposite side of the sloop. "Naomi Wildman has a collection of these myths, and she told me that I was like the mermaid. Her conclusion was. insightful. "  
  
"Oh? Are you homesick?"  
  
"No. I don't regret being severed from the Collective." She said matter-of- factly. "But I know I will never be completely human."  
  
Images of Seven rushed to the foreground of my thoughts: Seven working in Astrometrics, sitting in safe harbor and looking out at the stars, like the little mermaid, who traded her voice for human feet that felt the pain of knives each time she used them, willing to suffer that and more for a love that was never meant to be.  
  
I motioned her to sit beside me as I tucked the tiller gently under my arm. "Don't look out to sea forever, Seven."  
  
"If I comply, will you do the same?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"If I promise not to look out to sea forever, will you do the same?" she said softly, her voice neither cold nor oppressively kind. "You and I are haunted by different things, Captain. They are not easy to forget."  
  
I turned toward her and found myself spitted by a pair of eyes the color of a tempestuous sea. The honest concern, the faithfulness in those eyes shredded the mask I'd been wearing throughout our idle conversation. I shook my head to escape the ponderous weight of her gaze and to smack down the tears that threatened to spill out of my eyes. "You must despise me, Seven."  
  
She stared at me again, and I didn't like it. It was as if she was peering into a cloudy fish bowl, checking to see if something was still alive. "Captain, in you I have always found integrity, untouched and unshaken no matter how circumstances altered. In you I know the meaning of duty and strength; you have always mastered yourself before you sought to master others. You know your limitations but have always refused to accept them as insurmountable."  
  
My face unraveled from all the strain I felt. Seven was always like this. She may not have always obeyed me, but she listened. She analyzed everything and passed judgment, sometimes harshly, but never maliciously. I thrust my hands into my eyes, stemming the flow of tears that I knew would come at any moment.  
  
Wondrously, she gathered me into her arms. Her left hand held me close while her right bestowed soothing caresses on my brow. I felt her lips on my forehead, my eyelids, drawing still on my cheek.  
  
"The crew may be angry with you, but they are not disappointed in you." She whispered. "We could never be."  
  
Her words triggered the pain I had tried so hard to hold down. It rushed out at me like a big spring bursting and a pain at my temples and a thickness in my mouth. Something snapped loose around my soul. It seemed as if I was trying to get out from inside myself while Seven kept me hugged and weighted and steady and thought - God knows what, her Captain's face snagging in breath like a drowning man.  
  
"Captain." Seven whispered tenderly against my cheek, "It is the strength of your vision, the faith in your dream, which brings order to chaos. We put our trust in you, and you help us to stand up in the storm. Perhaps not perfectly, but always consistently."  
  
And quite suddenly her lips gently touched the corner of my mouth. The kiss was so shy and so brief, I could have imagined it. Her arms tightened around me as I wept, unable to stop no matter how much I wanted to. I was so tired of fighting, so weary of the battle that had raged within me. She held me close; her lips soothed my eyelids and traced the tracks of my tears.  
  
In that moment I finally grasped what love was about. Reaching for somebody, believing the best in them, believing that their best will prevail.  
  
She sang to me then, that faint song that felt more sensual than an angel's, and also more real. I tried to catch the melody, fixed the little that remained of my consciousness on it, listened desperately. Sleep trickled down around me, and the tune dissolved away into my dreams.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I awoke looking into her unclouded eyes, the luminous dawn turning her hair into fine skeins of gold. I was stretched out on the floorboards of the windward deck, with my head on her thigh. Guiltily I remembered that I had cried myself to sleep and denied her. denied us. our dinner.  
  
"Is your leg dead?" I asked, getting up immediately.  
  
Seven arched her implant. "The weight of your head could not cause gangrene, Captain."  
  
I smiled wanly, not quite knowing what the hell I should say. I looked around and suddenly noticed that we weren't moving.  
  
"I informed Commander Chakotay that we would be delayed," Seven explained. "I attempted to guide our vessel back to the harbor, but we have been becalmed for three hours, twenty minutes, and forty-two seconds. Fortunately, the wind seems to be picking up."  
  
"What did you do?" I asked, grinning at the image of Seven trying to take the sloop in.  
  
"From your actions last night, I observed that the vessel does not sail into the wind, but at an acute angle of approximately 43 to 45 degrees. I used the roof of the large red cottage as a landmark, formulated a heading and held my course. I assumed that I would sail at precisely the proper angle for maximum efficiency. Instead the vessel came to a complete stop." Seven said, disgusted with her failure. "This is primitive. It would be more efficient to install propulsion and helm control."  
  
I had started to smile during her recitation but then I realized I was laughing, really laughing. How long had it been since I had let out my breath this way? I caught Seven's glare and what looked to be the beginning of a pout and promptly dissolved into another fit of laughter. After I had brushed away the tears in my eyes, I attempted to mollify her.  
  
"Seven, I think I'll promote you from passenger to First Mate." I declared, still chuckling. "Would you like me to teach you to sail?"  
  
Her lips twitched in her Borg "smile" but she insisted that I eat breakfast first. I gave her a mock salute and retrieved the chicken I had packed. When I returned with two plates and utensils, I found a bowl of the most efficient and appetizing salad I had ever seen in my life. "Seven, did you make this?"  
  
"No. The elves made them while you slept, Captain." She deadpanned as she placed the canister she had used to keep the salad in back into her bag.  
  
I laughed again. "Now you're just provoking me!"  
  
"I enjoy the sound of your laughter." Seven admitted. "Most of the time."  
  
I smiled and handed her a plate and a fork. "Are you going to try and keep me laughing throughout breakfast? Because without anything to drink, you might make me choke."  
  
"But we do have something to drink, Captain. I observed a bottle of water among your provisions."  
  
I nearly did choke. "Uh. that's not water, Seven."  
  
"Synthanol?"  
  
"Yes. Vodka."  
  
Seven pressed her lips together. "I have a thermos of Nutritional Supplement 12-gamma, it will be sufficient for both of us to consume it if I also eat the chicken."  
  
"Be my guest." I said, trying not to wish for water. or a steaming mug of coffee.  
  
She bent down to retrieve the thermos from her bag, and her sketchpad fell out onto the deck, opening at a page written in Borg. Seven snatched it away immediately, but I had seen enough characters to recognize my name. It was the only Borg that I knew, since those were the letters Harry had taught me. I felt a voyeuristic thrill, knowing that I had glimpsed at Seven's diary. I also felt a rush of elation at the thought that my name was in it.  
  
After we had eaten breakfast, Seven sat beside me as I taught her how to hold the tiller, and explained that in this case, the shortest distance between two points was a zig-zag. I let her find the wind, and watched as her eyes widened at the power she felt under her hand as she eased the tiller to port, away from her destination, but tacking towards it nevertheless.  
  
I looked down at my small hand covering her elegant, Borg-meshed fingers, keeping their pressure on the tiller light. For the first time I looked at Seven and did not feel the exploding heat of desire that had always rushed through my body. For the first time it was more of a murmuring warmth, suffusing my chest and my limbs.  
  
I braced myself for the computer's incessant chirping that would call me out of this dream and into the alpha shift, or for the sound of red-alert klaxons. but they never came. I was still beside her, my hand cradling hers.  
  
"Thank you for a lovely evening." Seven broke in abruptly but sincerely.  
  
I felt overwhelmed, grateful, but too embarrassed to do anything but breathe. "I should thank you, Seven."  
  
Her face softened and she removed her hand from beneath mine, wrapping it around my waist and settling gently on my abdomen as I took hold of the tiller. "You told me once that since you were my Captain, you could not always be my friend."  
  
I nodded, my throat was suddenly dry and my eyes were magnetized to hers.  
  
Seven smiled and whispered. "I do not have that limitation." 


	2. Under the Cradling Moon 2

The Mermaid (Under the Cradling Moon 2/4) by thetilde ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Category: J/7 shipper melancholy. Spoilers: Very minor spoilers regarding "Survival Instinct". Disclaimers: The characters and situations of the television program "Star Trek Voyager" are the creations and property of Paramount Pictures, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I retain the rights to the plot. You may download and distribute this story as long as my name stays on the by-line. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Contact me at omegapoint79@yahoo.com. Rating: PG Summary: Post-Survival Instinct. Seven contemplates the relevance of her actions towards the Captain as she creates a gift.  
  
Acknowledgments: features an excerpt from Hans Christian Andersen's "The Little Mermaid". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I know her like I know my own mind. Better, perhaps. She thinks I am a child. The others think I am a monster. All of them are wrong. This new collective aboard Voyager. they are inefficient and impractical, and yet they thrive. Perhaps their incessant discussion, contemplation, revision, exploration. perhaps these things bring an innate order, much like the unending motion of atoms in what appears to be a solid object.  
  
She requires motion. Even on the bridge she is animated, rising from the Captain's chair effortlessly and purposefully, with discipline and with clear intent. She moves like this through her duties and through her life. She is arrogant, she craves control and order. She believes that she knows what the best course of action is for any given situation. She solicits the opinion of others, but only in order to fully explain her decision afterwards.  
  
She is the Captain.  
  
Her confidence and the strength of her character endow her training and experience with the certainty of command. Her passion for life is only eclipsed by her passion for Voyager, and that pales in comparison with her passion for Starfleet, for its high ideals and hopes.  
  
She is my Captain.  
  
I never conceived that it was possible to experience so many emotions for one individual. So many conflicting feelings seize me when I am in her presence; irritation and admiration, tenderness and violent anger, desire and despair.  
  
She is my Captain. She cannot always be my friend.  
  
And whatever occurs, wherever we journey, she will never be more than that.  
  
I should accept this. The desire for an equal and intimate relationship is unproductive. My efforts to deepen our current friendship will fail. I am aware of this, every day I am made aware of this. Why do I resist? Why do I choose to seek her out, to comfort and support her despite the irrelevance of my actions?  
  
I knew the Doctor was concerned about her recent behavior, I knew that by mentioning her interest in sailing the Vashrim Legate would endeavor to produce an appropriate and sufficient vessel for her if she chose to transport to the planet for shore leave. I knew she would allow me to assist her, and that the chances of gaining her approval to accompany her were significantly increased if I decided to appear differently than I would on Voyager. Ensign Kim's pupils had dilated and Lieutenant Torres had been violent toward Ensign Paris's open-mouthed reaction when they observed the changes in my appearance.  
  
I did not realize that her appearance would change as well. It was not her garments, it was her demeanor that I had not accounted for. She was subdued, her blue-grey eyes were empty of the intensity that I had grown accustomed to observing. She was preoccupied by her thoughts throughout the voyage, and she would speak absently about her family and their recreational activities.  
  
I engaged her in conversation about our common interest in Astronomy, and we even discussed Earth landmarks. She inquired about my desire to view the replica of the mermaid from an ancient Earth myth. I did not want to tell her the truth. Yet, I did not know why I wanted to hide it from her.  
  
There is so much about this new self that I cannot understand, I had so much control in the Collective. There were no surprises and no internal conflict. My existence was simple, uncomplicated. efficient. Humanity is complex, but if the Captain is to be believed, the complications make life richer. I have yet to verify this. Individuality only seems to come with pain.  
  
When I was engaged in "baby-sitting" Naomi Wildman, she requested a bedtime story and chose the myth of "The Little Mermaid" because she theorized that I would enjoy it.  
  
"She's just like us, Seven." Naomi proclaimed innocently.  
  
"Indeed?" I had replied as she clambered up into my lap. I had been told that young humans often did this and did not object to her behavior. Naomi Wildman had seemed gratified and placed her arms around my neck. I accessed the information on the PADD she handed me, reading the myth aloud.  
  
"See, the little mermaid didn't know anything about Earth, but she was still willing to go there." Naomi Wildman explained.  
  
"Because of love." I corrected.  
  
"Well, we're going to Earth because of love too." Naomi replied. "I love my mommy and I want her to be happy. Even though I don't think I would be too happy on Earth."  
  
"Why have you reached that conclusion?" I asked.  
  
"Because you and Neelix and the Captain wouldn't be with me anymore." Naomi explained softly. "You would go away."  
  
"You would not be alone. Your mother, and your father, would be there."  
  
"Yes." Naomi replied. She did not seem adequately comforted.  
  
"I would always be your friend." I said.  
  
Naomi Wildman smiled and tightened her arms around me. "But you would be alone. I don't like being alone. I don't want you to be alone."  
  
I had not wanted to tell her that I was always alone, and that our location would not change that fact. Perhaps it is what humans refer to as poetic justice, to have been the cause of so much suffering and in the final analysis, to be alone, part of nothing, part of no one. I have no home. No people. I have no future, no destiny, any more than a bubble or a whirlpool in a current has a destiny. I am like foam on the sea, like the foam that the mermaid in the myth became. "Mermaids have no immortal soul and can never have one, unless they can obtain the love of a human being. Their chance of obtaining eternal life depends upon others."  
  
There is nothing eternal for me. What is Borg in me seeks perfection. What is human in me seeks something else, something that I cannot identify.  
  
But on that vessel, on that alien sea, in that moment I felt as if I had obtained it, that I had grasped what I could not verbalize, that I understood what my humanity, my individuality, had been seeking secretly, despite myself.  
  
My next course of action is uncertain, to love her in silence is no longer acceptable, to inform her of my feelings would be futile.  
  
But not irrelevant.  
  
Why am I compelled to make all my feelings known to her, and only to her, each and every time? Why am I seated in this holodeck, engaged in an activity that I am obviously ill-equipped to pursue? I had thought that art was irrelevant, that music was irrelevant. But they are activities that allow me to alleviate the pressure of my emotions, to express the pain of individuality.  
  
I close my eyes and images assault me. The wooden vessel bobbing on the blue-grey sea, her face against my lips, her expression when we returned to Voyager. she had walked to the turbolift and glanced back at me. We had gazed at each other, awkwardly, like strangers. Part of me longed to say something, any foolish words that would make her stay a moment longer. Another part of me was disdainful of my emotions. And yet another part of me wanted to run. But before I could do anything, she turned and strode into the lift, in control again, and I knew she was no longer thinking of me.  
  
She withdrew, as she always did after I overstepped my boundaries. I had not seen her for velocity and I had not instigated any philosophical discussions though I had much to ask her. She cared for the drones. the former drones that I had violated; she was occupied by seeing to their welfare. It was Naomi Wildman who came to Astrometrics, believing that I needed the company of family, quietly observing me work and then taking me to the mess hall for nutrition I had not required. I wanted to comforted, cared for, but perhaps this child's attentions were the best I could have expected. Perhaps it was all I could hope for.  
  
"Irrelevant." I said, suddenly surprised to hear my own voice. I checked my internal chronometer, the period allocated for my use of the holodeck would expire in 15 minutes. The painting I had created was not sufficient. It was technically perfect, but the Captain would most likely judge it as flat. It had nothing of the "soul" she often praised Da Vinci's work for. Why was I pursuing this? It was all futile.  
  
I clenched my fist and forced my thoughts to order themselves, to make my mind blank as Commander Tuvok had once explained. I tried to take all the questions, doubts, and fears that were spinning inside me and force them into a container. My mind is full of containers, neatly stacked like those in Cargo Bay 2 so that they do not inconvenience anyone.  
  
I concentrate on the painting. Images are simple; they can be organized and duplicated. And when I am finished, the sketchpads and canvases can be stacked neatly in containers. Words are more difficult, especially when they are spoken. They are like my humanity, destructive and unpredictable, powerful and clumsy. insufficient.  
  
I longed for this gift to exceed the Captain's expectations, to be deemed relevant. But I did not know how to make it so. Perhaps, this was all I could do. Perhaps this would have to be enough.  
  
Slowly, I picked up a brush and began to write. 


	3. Under the Cradling Moon 3

The Painting (Under the Cradling Moon 3/4) by thetilde ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Category: J/7 shipper WAFF (Warm and Fuzzy Feeling). Involves loving intimacy between two women. If you take offense at such things, stop reading. Spoilers: Minor spoilers regarding the outcome of "Tinker, Tenor, Doctor, Spy", "One Small Step", and "The Voyager Conspiracy". Disclaimers: The characters and situations of the television program "Star Trek Voyager" are the creations and property of Paramount Pictures, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I retain the rights to the plot. You may download and distribute this story as long as my name stays on the by-line. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Contact me at omegapoint79@yahoo.com. Rating: NC-17 Summary: Set after "The Voyager Conspiracy". The Captain receives a mysterious gift from Seven of Nine and finds out more than she ever dreamed possible.  
  
Acknowledgments: features the artwork of Timerunner and TheTilde. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
There is no night in space. I think that's the reason I still have such a hard time sleeping, even after all these years. I'd like to think that the stress and strain of getting the crew home keeps me awake at night, but I know better. I know that my body keeps me flamingly diurnal, and that coffee is my only weapon against its complaints. On the odd occasions when I can allow myself to rest I slip into a sanctified unconsciousness with effort.  
  
Now the gleaming keeps me awake.  
  
Awash in the starlight outside my windows, the standard-issue furniture starts to shine. The effect is startling and vivid, I half-expect to turn around and find a moon over the Golden Gate, as if I were still in my apartment in San Francisco.  
  
I've been noticing this gleaming since I started drinking the Andorian cider Chakotay left behind from our last dinner. He probably didn't intend for me to mix it with gin and down it with the greatest snack this century has produced: Butter and Wasabi Popcorn. Images of my room swirled and strobed in my mind in between the thoughts that I was trying to kill.  
  
It was only when my head started spinning and my body started weaving and I tumbled into bed that I would hear the singing.  
  
At first I thought it was my pillow. Because it seemed to me that the pillow that always cradled my cheek so gently - no matter what was happening, however bad things were - would have a voice just like the one I was hearing. I only heard the voice when my eyes were closed, so I thought it was simply a comfortable dream. At times like these I was never lucid enough to think very deeply about anything.  
  
Living by myself had loosened me from my life a long time ago, long before I met her. Long before I heard her voice, felt her touch, fought and laughed and lived and loved her. Yes, I probably did love her, didn't I? When did I allow this to happen? It snuck up on me in the night. was it that night, when the moonlight shone behind her seated figure on the foredeck and she seemed, for a minute, to be edged in a rim of a plasma burst, her optical implant glinting like a circle of duranium. Or was it when she risked her life to help those troubled Borg? Or when she made that tentative, touching speech at John Kelly's funeral?  
  
My thoughts waltzed through my head, visions of Seven still swirling and strobing the colors of the visual spectrum. Dancing through my head in time with that lilting song.  
  
Dear God, I don't want to think about her.  
  
I know if I start thinking about her I'll also think about the naked longing in the Doctor's eyes when he looks at her, how she responded to him in his fantasies, how she responded to him in reality: kissing him on the cheek when I gave him his commendation. I'll remember how Chakotay's voice deepened when he spoke about Seven's involvement in our recent mission to salvage the Aries IV command module. I'll remember the look in his eyes and the way he confided that he could see now what I had seen in her all along, that he realized she was more than just an efficient Borg.  
  
And then I'll remember convincing her, begging her to come home. assuring her that I would never let any harm come to her, reminding her of everything we'd been through, and how she'd thanked me that morning in the mess hall. I'll recall with perfect clarity that moment she brought down the force field, how she took a deep breath as I closed the distance between us. how I wanted to hold her and kiss her the way she had held me so long ago on that sail boat. how I had chickened out and knelt at her feet instead, asking Voyager to beam us home.  
  
And then I'll remember why I got drunk in the first place.  
  
The canvas was propped up on my couch when I got back from the transporter room. It was pitch black, deep indigo and brilliant blue, the moon held high in the sky, painted with meticulously gentle brush strokes. Delicate whorls and loops of Borg script overlaid the sky, and in its mysterious curves I saw my name. Kathryn.  
  
My heart stopped in my chest, and I felt light-headed, wondering why she had done this, how she had done this, and when she had placed it in my quarters. A small part of me wanted to run to Cargo Bay 2 and embrace her, making a spectacle of myself in front of Vorik and the other Engineers who were helping her remove the cortical processing sub-units in the alcove that caused her to distrust everyone. The stronger part of me wanted to crawl into an escape pod and launch it away from the ship, away from the feelings that were running through my very soul.  
  
Only the chirp that announced Chakotay saved me from doing either. I hurriedly placed the canvas in my bedroom as I shouted orders to the replicator. After our celebratory dinner and several toasts to the catapult that had cut three months of our journey home, I called up the database and set about translating what Seven had written on the canvas. It took me most of the night, but when I had finally decoded the mysterious writing on that evening sky, I lost my nerve entirely.  
  
Kathryn, my Captain, this is to let you know what I feel for you is so much more than what others call love, there are no words that are sufficient. I only remember your eyes, the teasing smile in them, the feeling of that soft spot north-east of the corner of your mouth against my lips. . . the rapture of our quiet solitude, the safe harbor of our embrace under the cradling moon. before we go back to what we will always be... with my individuality with everything I am, and everything I could ever be, this is to let you know.  
  
Dear God, the unbelievable softness of her lips, her skin against mine. it had felt so right to be in her arms. I found myself drifting off to sleep in her embrace, wishing that the dawn would never come and that I would never have to go back to the ship.  
  
She told me that it was the strength of my vision, the faith in my dream, that the crew put their trust in, that held the ship together... "Perhaps not perfectly, but always consistently."  
  
I had always known that she cared about me and respected me but in that moment I think I felt the price of that respect for the first time - the knowledge that her affection for me was something I had to live up to. Not something I had to earn because she gave it freely, but a love I had to prove worthy of. And I had to prove it to myself, not to her.  
  
She loves me. Dear God, she loves me.  
  
I tried so hard to bury my feelings, to hide them from her and from myself. I fought to forestall this moment, the moment where I would have to make this choice.  
  
How could I indulge myself with her, how could I love her knowing the volatile emotions I kept locked inside me? What would happen the next time I lost control? I would put her first, before the ship, before the crew, before any directive or any civilization if she were in danger. I would drown in her willingly, forsaking everything that I already am. I would lose control and I have so little of it left.  
  
But how can I not love her? How could I stand Chapman, or Harry, or the Doctor, or even Chakotay winning her heart if I threw it away now? How can I keep restraining myself for the next thirty years? Will I really be able to survive that long without her, or worse, knowing that she loves someone else? Will I really be able to turn her away without damning myself in the process?  
  
So many thoughts, so many regulations scintillating like knives in my head. waltzing. one, two, three, four. one, two, three, four. Red and blue, yellow and green strobing on the walls of my skull. the furniture gleaming. that song. where have I heard that voice before?  
  
Mermaids and sirens. wasn't there a mermaid somewhere. don't look at her or you'll fall in love. that's what hapless sailors do and they drown. with the lobsters and salmon. yellow and blue and the moon. looking out into the sea forever.  
  
All these dreams. these pretty dreams.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I woke up to a raging migraine and a lethargy in my limbs. Groaning I lifted my head off my pillow and was hit by a wave of nausea at the same time that reality came sharply into focus.  
  
Sighing, I replicated a hypospray to take care of my hang-over and a large breakfast. Pancakes lathered in butter and maple syrup washed down with a tall glass of milk and a pot of steaming coffee always seemed to make me feel better.  
  
I wolfed down my breakfast, took a quick sonic shower, and dressed myself for my shift. I arrived early, acknowledging my staff as I made my way to the ready room, informing Chakotay that he had the bridge.  
  
In the hopes of postponing the inevitable, I dove into the pile of reports that greeted me when I activated the small console on my desk. Among the normal entries related to ship efficiency and morale I found that Ensign Vorik had reported to B'Ellana that he'd completed the task of removing the essential parts of Seven's modified alcove. B'Ellana's clipped daily summary mentioned that Seven volunteered to do the rest herself. The Doctor had declared Seven fit for duty, and I surmised that she was probably in Astrometrics.  
  
Now what?  
  
I tried to clear my mind, breathing deeply and counting to one hundred, letting memories and images of the past few days filter through my consciousness. Seven had been using her modified alcove to download large amounts of data in order to increase efficiency aboard Voyager. She hadn't accounted for her human physiology and she'd spawned various conspiracy theories in order to make sense of all the data. She implicated me in a plot to strand Voyager in the Delta Quadrant. Chakotay believed her and B'Ellana had believed him. Then Seven had denounced Chakotay as a Maquis conspirator. And then, Seven had made her way to the shuttle bay, convinced that the entire crew had come to the Delta Quadrant to sever a drone from the Collective and take it back to Starfleet Headquarters for further study and tactical assessment.  
  
Seven had been convinced that I'd set out to acquire and study her, that everything that I'd done for her all this time had been an act. merely a part I was playing. And yet she left her painting in my quarters. why?  
  
My eyes flew open as the realization hit me.  
  
She hadn't known that I shared her feelings; she only knew that she loved me, and that I had betrayed her. The painting was meant to be her last stinging indictment, to be found only after she'd destroyed the catapult and committed suicide.  
  
All I ask is that you trust me again.  
  
Seven had trusted me, believed in me even when I had willfully intended to murder an innocent man for the sake of Starfleet's highest ideal. She had followed my orders, even volunteering to retrieve fragments of Aries IV's command module simply because I encouraged her to discover the value of history and of exploration. She'd acted on so many of my suggestions, exploring dating, music, and art. Seven had been trying to please me all this time, and I had never noticed. Frustrated, angry, paranoid, burning with hate and despair. and still she loved me.  
  
She loves me. That was why she'd come back, that was why she always came back. That was why she was in Astrometrics right now, patiently doing her duty.  
  
My head swam with awe at the sheer enormity of her devotion, and with sadness at the terrible pain she must have felt when she believed I had never really cared about her.  
  
I remembered how she had held me in her arms that night on Vashri, I remembered how I felt safe and loved, the rocking of the boat on the waves and the pressure and warmth of her body close to mine, and her voice. reassuring me but careful never to let me know how she truly felt. I remembered the sound of her voice singing me to sleep even in my drunken dreams.  
  
Seven deserved better than this. she deserved someone better than me. But, thank God, I'm the one she's fallen in love with.  
  
And now, in complete sobriety and with unflinching honesty, I knew what I had to do.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I left the parchment tied to a protrusion on her alcove, rolling it up into such a small tube that only her eyes would notice that it was there.  
  
Seven, my sweet mermaid, this is to let you know that I know the pain in your dearly-bought legs the blindness of the one you love who does not remember the moon who cannot recall the dream of your unbearably soft lips your unquestioning gaze your siren song that brought me back from the night this is to let you know that I know and that I am waiting hoping you will trust me again.  
  
I assumed she would find it and read it before she regenerated. But then I'd forgotten that Seven didn't need to regenerate every night, and that I hadn't specified a time. I finished dinner undisturbed, without even the slightest chirp of a comm badge. I fidgeted and fretted, nearly wearing a groove into the floor of my quarters as I paced the length of my living area. What if she hadn't noticed it? What if she noticed it and couldn't read it because my penmanship was atrocious?  
  
I waited for hours, trying to absorb myself in poetry or a paper on gravimetric anomalies or a gothic novel, and failing utterly. I did succeed however, in consuming three bowls of Butter and Wasabi popcorn, cleaning my teeth after each serving to ensure perfect breath.  
  
It was only at 0300H that I realized there was a God, because the entry chime to my quarters rang in my ears and I knew that only one person would call at this hour.  
  
I stood up because I wanted to be eye to eye with her when she entered. Then I decided that that was going to look too formal, too stiff. So I sat. But it was a nonchalance that felt forced and awkward. So I crouched, half- propped up on one knee. That, of course, didn't help, because it was the worst of all. I'd gone from looking stiff and then awkward, to flat-out stupid.  
  
In the meantime, there was another chime at the door.  
  
I stood again and took position behind the chair, leaning on it. But then she realized I'd be sending a subliminal message by hiding behind the furniture.  
  
The chime pealed insistently.  
  
If I delayed much longer, then it was going to seem damned weird when I finally let Seven in, because the obvious question was going to be "What kept you?"  
  
I could pretend I was soaking in the tub. Great idea. All I had to do was pull off my uniform, fill the tub with water, jump in, get completely wet, jump out, toss on a robe, and answer the door. at which point the strikingly beautiful woman on the other side would very likely be back in Cargo Bay 2, regenerating.  
  
The hell with it.  
  
"Enter." I said in what I hoped was a confident tone of voice. Sure enough, Seven of Nine was on the other side, her posture half-turned away. Clearly she had been about to leave.  
  
"Captain," she said, turning uncertainly towards me, "I thought you were asleep."  
  
"I was." I lied with brisk efficiency. "I fell asleep reading on the couch. So. come in."  
  
She moved hesitantly across the threshold, closing the distance between us and stopping abruptly, several meters away. Seven widened her stance and held her hands behind her back.  
  
"I. received your message." She began slowly, as if testing the ground she was about to tread on.  
  
I gave her a nervous smile. "I'm glad you did."  
  
Silence flooded the space between us, washing around us like torrents of water from a dam.  
  
"Would you like anything?" I said, practically running to the replicator and trying not to stumble over myself like an adolescent.  
  
She shook her head but said nothing to dispel the awkwardness in the air.  
  
I let out a long sigh and stood as tall as I could, willing myself to do what was right by this beautiful woman. "Seven, would you like to sit down?"  
  
"No. I would prefer to stand, considering the content of this discussion." She replied coldly.  
  
"Oh?" I asked quailing under the iciness of her tone but irritated at her calmness. "What do you think the topic of discussion is, Seven?"  
  
She stared at me for a moment, as if she was constructing me in her mind's eye. Then with a defiant lift of her chin and her blue eyes forward, she spoke in a tone laced with bitterness. "You have translated the words on the painting I left in your quarters. You requested my presence in order to cause the minimum level of embarrassment. You will tell me one of three things: that you find me an insufficient mate and that I will adapt with time, that you are in love with Commander Chakotay and only view me as a friend and that I do not understand my emotions to begin with, or you will say that even if you did share my feelings changing the parameters of our current relationship would cause you to violate protocol and endanger the entire crew."  
  
"I see you've thought of everything." I began. "At least you think you have."  
  
"Explain." Seven said, betraying an iota of confusion.  
  
"Seven, can we please sit down?" I said. "I want to explain this properly."  
  
"Very well." She acquiesced.  
  
I motioned her toward the couch and smiled as she came to sit beside me. Looking deeply into her eyes, I reached out to hold her left hand in mine.  
  
"First of all, Seven, I did not ask you to come to my quarters to avoid embarrassment. I asked you to come here so we could have some privacy." I explained patiently, happy to start-off on what I could easily verbalize.  
  
"As for the three possible topics you mentioned," I paused, taking her face between my hands and making sure I had her attention, "I would never think you were an insufficient mate. I know that I've been a very stupid woman, but I'm not so far gone that I would subscribe to such a moronic notion. On the contrary, one of the problems I have is that I'm having a hard time believing that you've fallen in love with me."  
  
I felt my face burning from this admission, but I plunged on. "Secondly, and let me be very clear on this. I am NOT in love with Chakotay. He is a wonderful, sweet, loving man and he is one of my dearest friends, aside from you. And yes, I admit that at first, I didn't want to risk our friendship, and that I felt protective of you because you're inexperienced. But I never thought of you as a child."  
  
I dropped my hands from her face and broke eye contact. "I'm sorry if I ever treated you as if you were a child. I'm pretty sure I did every now and then."  
  
"Constantly." Seven corrected.  
  
"I apologize." I said sincerely. "I suppose it was my way of denying what I was starting to feel for you."  
  
"You are not questioning the veracity of my feelings?" Seven asked in quiet incredulity.  
  
"I couldn't presume to know your feelings, could I?" I replied. "I've already presumed so much, which is what got us into this mess in the first place.  
  
Seven looked away abruptly, as if I had slapped her. When she spoke her voice was dead. "You feel that I have complicated your life, that I will erode your command authority."  
  
"You've made my life infinitely better, Seven." I said, my hand slowly turning her face towards me. "But yes, Starfleet protocol is an issue."  
  
"You violate directives with impunity, and yet you sanctify minor regulations that are only for external order." Seven stated, her voice like daggers. "You are afraid. You know the crew abhors me and you are anxious that they do not detest you and disobey your orders."  
  
"Seven, the crew doesn't detest you!"  
  
"Open your eyes, Captain." Seven retorted. "At best, the senior staff tolerates me. The junior staff is not always so kind."  
  
"Well, they'd better start treating you properly or I'll confine the lot of them to quarters and fly this ship myself!" I fired back, losing control at the thought of the isolation she must have felt all along. "You're the woman I love, and they may not prefer to be in your company but they will certainly respect you."  
  
Seven reached for my hand, gripping it with an almost painful intensity, as if I were a life line she needed to stay afloat. "Captain.?"  
  
"It's Kathryn, darling." My left hand moved to cup her face gently, as I told her quietly, what had lain buried in my soul for nearly three years. "I wanted to tell you. I feel... damn, this is so hard."  
  
"Cap-Kathryn," Seven corrected, "I am also.unused to such emotions. When I read your message and logic lead me to conclude that you also shared my feelings. I felt elation and anger."  
  
"Anger?"  
  
"I was irritated by my emotions." Seven admitted slowly. "Your concerns are. logical, efficient. My actions are not."  
  
"Love seldom is, Seven." I said softly.  
  
Her hand traced the contour of my shoulder tentatively, shyly, as she drew in breath. "You are also experiencing conflicting feelings?" "Yes." I replied, quivering at her gentle touch. "Seven, I have prayed and dreamt and ached to be held by you. I haven't been able to tell you because the way I feel for you terrifies me. In you, I discovered a love that seemed too intimately beautiful to be meant for me. I love you, I cannot help loving you, but I don't know what to do."  
  
She moved imperceptibly, folding me into her embrace as her lips came to rest once more on the corner of my mouth. If I moved a centimeter, my mouth would be on hers, and I would claim those sweet lips. I would press my open mouth, my open heart, my open life to hers. and neither of us would be the same.  
  
I tempted fate before I could raise any objections, lightly brushing my lips over hers questioningly, wanting to know that she wanted. needed this as much as I did. I kept the pressure of the kiss light, teasing her with its slowness. The answering kiss was soft and shy. It was such a great gift that I shivered inside at the taking of it, dimly remembering that it was her first kiss before waves of heat washed over me. She let out a soft moan as I took her bottom lip between mine.  
  
I expected affection, gratitude, passion, and devotion. But I never anticipated such tenderness, such earnestness. Her lips moved sweetly beneath mine, searing my body with their white heat. She gathered me in her arms as I tentatively sought entrance to the sweetness of her mouth. Seven tasted of sweet apple wine, of clear summer days, of coming home at long last. Every molecule, every strand of DNA in my body knew that this was it; this was the moment I had waited and longed for all my life. It felt so right, so natural to be holding her in my arms and kissing her deeply.  
  
I leaned into her kisses, pushing her down on the couch. Her hands were caressing the nape of my neck, the length of my back, the dip of my waist and the curve of my hips. My legs entwined with hers and I felt the dampness of her arousal on my thigh.  
  
She gasped at the contact, trembling beneath me as I pulled back and began to trace a line of gentle kisses on her neck.  
  
"My sweet love," I murmured against her neck, "I want you so much. I wish I could make love to you."  
  
She blinked rapidly in confusion. "You will not make love to me?"  
  
"Not tonight, my darling." I whispered, stroking the blond hair gently, enjoying the feel of Seven's skin.  
  
"Why?" Seven asked, her hand drifting to the back of my thigh. "You stated that you desired me. I feel. I want. I cannot identify what I want, but I want more."  
  
I grinned. "I'm glad you do, Seven. But we really should take this slow."  
  
"You are torturing me." Seven said, her mouth pursing up abruptly.  
  
"Seven. are you?" I put my hands on either side of her and lifted myself up. "You're pouting! Oh, darling, you look so cute!"  
  
"I am not cute." Seven replied, sitting up and folding her hands across her chest.  
  
"Yes, you are!" I chortled, throwing my head back and allowing the seismic waves of laughter to flow out of my throat.  
  
"You are giggling." Seven said, her features softening. "I like it."  
  
Her arms went around me and a kiss stilled my mouth, tender and unquestionably sexual. I lay still as she began her gentle explorations, her hands drifted up to my breasts as her tongue slipped shyly into my mouth. Waves of heat shot through my body and my mind went blank, every neuron dedicated to savoring the experience.  
  
This was it; this was the cosmic rapture I had never dreamed I could partake of. Her touch - I've never been touched so softly, so gently, so deftly, with such power. It was the touch of Seven's hands that I hungered for - the tender, potent touch that thrilled me. But I'm still afraid, and as much as I want her touch to inflame me, I need it to soothe me even more.  
  
"Seven. darling." I began, torn between the desire raging within me and the desperate need to talk this through.  
  
Her mouth and her hands grew still, she removed them abruptly and I caught a flash of irritation in her eyes. "Kathryn, you will listen to me this time."  
  
I smiled. "I suppose resistance is futile."  
  
She arched both her eyebrows. "I believe that Ensign Paris would refer to that remark as 'lame'. I would concur."  
  
I stuck my tongue out at her and she kissed me again, swiftly and soundly.  
  
"You will desist being cute." She ordered, a grin peeking out of her demeanor. "And you will listen to what I am about to say."  
  
I nodded, burrowing closer into her embrace.  
  
"I love you." Seven said softly, caressing my face as she cradled me in her arms. "I desire you. With others I am efficient, with you I cannot be. It is infuriating. Your approval, your happiness, your well-being, your love. they are most important."  
  
I felt the tears forming in the corners of my eyes, and for once I let them fall freely.  
  
"Kathryn, you love this ship. You love the crew." Seven stated. "Your first priorities are the well-being of Voyager. This has always been of paramount importance to you. It is your Omega. I understand this, and because of you I have come to value the ship and the crew as well. I have sought to make. friends, though I have encountered many failures in this activity, but what is most important to me is our friendship, our relationship. I know that you cannot give me what I want, what we both want. but I would like to be with you and be loved by you for only a moment."  
  
"But Seven."  
  
"No matter how you feel for me," Seven said sadly, "you will always do what is right. It is part of why I feel angry and happy, why I love you."  
  
"I don't want to hurt you, Seven." I cried, burying my face in the softness of her hair.  
  
"Then let me be with you tonight. Let me have this moment with you." She said simply. "And tomorrow, you will do what you think is best. Just the way you always have."  
  
"Seven." I called out her name, the battle raging within me.  
  
"Please, love me tonight, Kathryn." Seven said, pressing a vulnerable kiss to my waiting mouth, conveying her thoughts and feelings in ways that brooked no misunderstanding or misinterpretation.  
  
Moaning weakly in her mouth, I surrendered completely to her. Letting my hands roam freely, reverently over the contours of her lissome body. I felt the catch of her dermoplastic suit underneath my fingers and attempted to loosen it as her hands moved underneath my uniform. With excruciating slowness, we undressed each other. I gasped as her exquisite body was revealed to me, and gave in to the desire that surged through me. naming and kissing and worshipping each implant and each plane of smooth skin. I began to stroke her breasts with light, tickling touches.  
  
She called out my name again and again as I tasted the sweetness of her coral-tipped breasts, licking them slowly. I watched as her eyelids fluttered open momentarily, only to shut again in total pleasure.  
  
I had always wanted to be the first one to teach her the sensual pleasure of love-making, to introduce her to the depth of pleasure that we could share. I drew a calm certainty from deep within myself. and slowly drew her nipple into my mouth, mimicking the gentle motion of my mouth with my left hand.  
  
"Kathryn. Oh, Kathryn!" Seven moaned softly. "Please make love to me."  
  
My right hand caressed her inner thighs, drifting up slowly, languorously into the sweet wetness that I knew awaited me. The strong muscles in her thighs trembled and then parted. I lifted my head to look into her eyes, gasping at the trust and devotion where I expected to find only anxiety and desire.  
  
"I'm so in love with you, Seven." I finally admitted. "Stay with me every night."  
  
Seven's arms tightened around me, as her hands caressed my neck, my back, and my thighs. "You will have me as long as you want me, Kathryn."  
  
"I want you forever." I declared, as I dipped my finger into her sweet wetness and stroked her lightly. "I want to love you like this for the rest of my life."  
  
Her eyes flew open, locking onto mine as I stroked her insistently. She lay vulnerable, physically and emotionally naked as she writhed beneath me.  
  
"I love you, Seven of Nine." I told her softly. "And I will not fight it anymore."  
  
Tears spilled from her eyes, and I bent to kiss them away, her hips rising up in order to maintain the blissful contact of my fingers. Her fingers gripped my back, almost painfully, as I entered her gently. I gasped at the slick tightness that surrounded my fingers as I moved in long, slow strokes. My mouth descended once more to her nipples, first one, and then the other. Her hips were thrusting against my hand, slowly at first, increasing the tempo as her desire built, as I guided her to the peak of her climax. Seven arched into my arms and cried out my name, her entire body trembling around me.  
  
My head swam with the knowledge that I had given her this pleasure, that I was the one who had made her this happy. I knew then, that I wanted to be the only one who would ever be allowed to make love to her.  
  
"I'm here, Seven." I said as I held her in my arms. "From now on, I'll always be here." 


	4. Under the Cradling Moon 4

The Dawn (Under the Cradling Moon 4/4) by thetilde ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Category: J/7 shipper WAFF (Warm and Fuzzy Feeling). Involves loving intimacy between two women. If you take offense at such things, stop reading. Spoilers: None. Disclaimers: The characters and situations of the television program "Star Trek Voyager" are the creations and property of Paramount Pictures, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. However, I retain the rights to the plot. You may download and distribute this story as long as my name stays on the by-line. Archive: Ask and you shall receive. Contact me at omegapoint79@yahoo.com. Rating: R Summary: A short epilogue where the Captain and Seven talk about their future together. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
I woke to the sunbeams of her hair, cradling her face gently and falling on her pillow. I woke to a world framed by Seven's embrace, held safe in the arms of the woman I loved. Here, lying naked in her arms, I felt a radiant peace, shining on my past and on my future. I knew I never wanted to sleep beside any other person again.  
  
There was. a warmth. a slow, spreading warmth though my chest, though my heart. I wanted to laugh out loud, and yet weep at how hard I had fought against and desperately longed for this one bright moment.  
  
I had seen stars being born, heard the dying gasp of countless suns, braved the cold hell of space, defeated the many forms of evil that the Universe sought to place in my way. and this one wondrous moment in her arms outshone anything I could ever encounter or experience. This consuming contentment, this sublime perfection, this happiness was the final frontier.  
  
If anything in my life deserved departure from previously established patterns, going beyond all known limitations, this moment did.  
  
I had thought that in this, the morning after, I would feel guilty, frightened, even horrified at how far I had allowed myself to go. Instead, I found myself feeling proud, glad to know that I dimly recognized the rare and unlooked for happiness for which my very soul had thirsted, crazy enough to relinquish control.  
  
Control. I had always craved it, needed it, and feared to be without it. I sought to rise above this very moment, to be so strong that this would not be necessary. I had been a brilliant success at my subliminal suicides. choosing lovers who were never very interested in being loving, who were just as scared of intimacy as I was. These were tidy relationships where I could control how much emotion and time I invested in them, where I could hide behind Duty and Protocol and Propriety. They were never dangerous, never a holocaust of desire. never true. Not one moment of what I had thought of as "love", could compare to this.  
  
This is what the poets see in their dreams, what every priest in every religion acknowledges as sacred. This is what I had run away from, never trusting it and thinking it was too good to be true, too good to be mine. This moment is mine, and mine alone. I spent a lifetime being dead, but in this moment I am alive forever.  
  
Very slowly, trying hard not to make a sound, I reach out a timid hand to touch her hair with my fingertips, gently. not to awaken, not even for a caress, but just to assure myself that she's real, that this isn't a dream.  
  
"Oh Seven." I sighed, caressing the fringe of implants across her abdomen.  
  
She stirred slightly as her eyes opened to the morning. Her smile was wide, brighter than the light of four suns. Seven snuggled closer to me, moving under the covers.  
  
"Good morning, love." I smiled back.  
  
"Can you repeat that, Kathryn?"  
  
Mystified and feeling slightly silly, I repeated my greeting, and was intensely gratified by the flood of kisses that were bestowed on my face and my neck.  
  
"It pleases me when you call me by that designation." Seven admitted.  
  
"Love?" I repeated.  
  
"My darling and my dearest are also acceptable." Seven said happily, trying in vain to suppress a yawn. "How long have you been conscious?"  
  
"Not very long, sweetheart." I said, treating her to a new endearment. "I was just thinking of the first time I slept in your arms. about the moon. and how kind and loving you were to me."  
  
"I was worried about you." She admitted, stroking my cheek sleepily. "You were not completely aware of the crew's true feelings. and my own."  
  
"Do you really believe what you told me?" I asked.  
  
"Of course." Seven said, looking me in the eye. "You are an excellent Captain. The crew and I would follow no other."  
  
"Oh, I remember a certain crewman who didn't always follow me so willingly." I teased gently.  
  
"I did not say I would follow you willingly." Seven clarified. "To use Ensign Paris's expression, your ideas are often 'off the wall' and yet the results are impressively successful, though the method may have been inefficient."  
  
"Thank you," I smirked. "I think."  
  
"Kathryn." Seven said, hiding her face suddenly in my neck. "I told you last night that I was confident you would choose to do what is best about. us. What is your decision?"  
  
Sighing, I cuddled her close. "Seven, darling. I want you to understand how I've felt these past few months. Will you please hear me out?"  
  
She nodded slightly without daring to look at me, only pulling closer into the circle of my arms.  
  
"I. Loving you. it's everything I dreamed of and more." I explained.  
  
"But?" She asked quietly.  
  
"But as Captain, I can't date a crew member." I continued, stroking her nape and running my hands through her hair. "There are regulations against it. And it's difficult to maintain command over people when they're aware that you're courting another member of the crew. It would leave me open to accusations of favoritism, to rumors about my personal life."  
  
Seven said nothing, but I could feel her heart thudding against my chest like the rapid heartbeat of a doe. A small choked sound escaped her throat. I tried to soothe her with my caresses.  
  
"Aside from regulations, I was so afraid of falling in love with you, of admitting to myself that I had fallen in love with you." I said. "I know how much I would love you, how much I would want you beside me, how deeply I would need to make you happy. I would lose all control."  
  
I brought my right hand to her chin, turning her head to face me, looking deeply into her eyes and the tears that fell from them.  
  
"I can't date you, Seven." I said, softly. "I can never give you what you deserve. a normal courtship, a relationship that doesn't change with duty shifts and a life that will never be encroached on by duty. But I hope that you'll adapt, that you'll love me despite these hardships. because I know that what we have is worth any difficulties we might encounter, that loving you and needing you makes me stronger, freer, and happier than I ever could be alone."  
  
Her eyes widened with patent disbelief.  
  
"I love you with everything I am, Seven." I said, laying bare my very soul. "Perhaps not perfectly, but always consistently. Will you marry me?"  
  
"Yes." Her body was wracked with sobs, tears of a completely different character flowing from her deep blue eyes. Those beautiful eyes that I knew me, that knew so much more, and would continue to unveil my truest self for many mornings yet to come.  
  
I kissed her tears away, gently speaking to the life that sparkled and danced behind those eyes; as the solar shades opened automatically, ushering in the starlit dawn. 


End file.
